Author Archives: marcogibbo

SINK HOLES

the grass is greener and the days are longer the drum beats like a stuttering drunk on the stairs in the brain of the crane operator what should he do in the waning hours of summer? fire up the barbie … Continue reading

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A Letter to My Unborn Grandchildren

Ignoring the elephant is what we’re good at— comfortable folks strolling through routine. Yes, I’m guilty of privilege, born white with a pair of balls, but I have tried to do my part pointing out what reeks of ignorance and … Continue reading

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Playing Favorites

what was your mother’s favorite flower? i don’t recall a stand-out flower. about the only thing she ever grew were tulips, a few limp pansies, and the irises that grew on their own—you couldn’t get rid of them— but she … Continue reading

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CUPS OF KINDNESS

Guy Lombardo’s orchestra played while the black and white crowd waltzed the ballroom, and folks swayed in overcoats snowy outside on Times Square singing Auld Lang Synge after the countdown to end or begin another year, ghosts of themselves on … Continue reading

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Plastic Jesus

The plastic crucifix draped with my grandmother’s rosary hung above the dresser in our parents bedroom,   Jesus glued to the cross he’d been knocked off after a drunken tumble my father took the night   his forehead caught the … Continue reading

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CHRISTMAS, HELL

I can’t even find time to write the irrelevant, irreverent form letter, for Christ’s sake, let alone wax poignantly about peace & joy, chestnuts or snow, those memories in slo-mo of dark mornings we danced across freezing wood floors to … Continue reading

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The Glass

warps our reflections we keep on eating more or less drink more sleep less pay attention to the dirty truth the word success dancing to the tick talk of the wind the prattle chatter of animal wisdom a party line … Continue reading

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Larva

  I. They hang in the dark corner of a room, three black duffel bag sized sacks like giant eggplants, upside down, wrapped in a woven membrane like a nylon sock. The face pressed in the bottom of one pouch, … Continue reading

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GONE

  cemeteries and ghost towns abandoned buildings the dilapidated evidence of lives lived and gone   broken glass and missing doors some swollen and jammed to the floor the rank smells of mildew and stink pigs blend like ant hills … Continue reading

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Cape Neddick

Red light flashes right White light flashes left A buoy bell clangs Out in the darkness Somewhere in between   The surf roars breaking Against the rocks below And underneath this constant Percussive Maine song Evening crickets fiddle along   … Continue reading

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